Date: Wed, 7 Jul 2004 08:51:55 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle
Subject: Seaward Plantation war clouds 1
This series contains graphic but completely fictional
depictions of sex among men and men, and men and underage
boys and/or girls, and even nekkid women show up now and
then If this offends you, if it is illegal for you to read
or download this, or if you are under 18, please go away.
Seaward Plantation
War clouds chapter one
"Papa Mark! Is anything wrong?" The ten year old boy rose
from the floor where he had been building a tiny city out of
wooden blocks with his friend, a dark chocolate eleven year
old girl with shoulder length braids. The boy came up to
the thirty-six year old man sitting in the wingback chair in
the library of Seaward house, and placed his thin hand on
the man's shoulder. Mark Appleby turned a troubled smile on
the boy and reached out his arm to embrace the child. He
was about to tell the boy it was nothing to worry about, but
why lie? All the people of Seaward deserved the truth, even
the young ones.
"I'm afraid there's a lot of trouble in the world, Marcus,"
he said, roughing the boy's mane of light brown, bushy
curls. He looked at Marcus's hazel eyes set in a light tan
face and his heart melted, certainly not for the first time.
Appleby felt a tugging on his other side. "Here's your
newspaper, Papa Mark" said the girl, a shy smile making her
sweet, dark chocolate face radiant. "You threw it down,"
she said, accusingly.
"I know I did, Apple. I'm sorry I lost my temper. It's
just that the news... the news is so troubling." His hand
on that side gave his namesake a hug. "What a young lady
you're becoming, Apple! Twelve soon!" The girl's smile
grew even wider.
"And I'm eleven soon, Papa Mark," said the boy.
"Yes, I know," said Appleby. Nearly eleven already! How
his life had changed since he came to Seaward--how Seaward
itself had changed! Late February of 1861 seemed centuries
past his arrival, but really it was only eleven years.
Eleven years of preparation for events he had feared, had
hoped would not come.... but now those hopes were blighted.
It would be best to call the adults together to plan. Avid
readers all, they could not have failed to have noticed the
news that now came in all the papers, North and South, that
were delivered to the island on the mail boat.
"Where are your mothers?" he asked the two, even as he
hugged them tighter... in fear? in protection?
"My mama is cooking in our cabin," said Apple, "and Mama
Portia," she said, looking at Marcus, "is cleaning out your
whole cabin. Shouldn't you help?"
"She told me to go play and watch my brother and stay out of
her way," said the boy, defensively.
Appleby broke in: "But, Marcus, then... where is Wat?" A
look of sudden recollection crossed the boy's face. His
full, rosebud lips parted in an "O."
"Ah! um.... playing upstairs."
"Go get him, make sure he's not in trouble," suggested
Appleby. Marcus scurried out of the room, footsteps
thumping on the stairs. A clang and a clatter, a muffled
exclamation..... A moment passed and two pairs of steps,
slower now, came down the stairs.... down the hall, and then
into the room.
"He didn't get into trouble.... into much trouble," said
Marcus, pulling a somewhat unwilling eight year old by the
hand into the room. Wat's usually beautiful features were
marred by a scowl, having been torn away from whatever
mischief he was up to. His almond eyes glared in angry
slits at his brother, a frown creased his tan and gold skin.
The boy's hair was like Marcus's bush of light curls but it
was a shiny, jet black.
"Wat... have you been up to no good?" asked Appleby, smiling
in spite of himself.
"No, Papa Mark, I was just playing" came the sullen
response. Appleby cupped the boy's chin with his hand and
tickled lightly, which brought a smile to the lad's face in
spite of himself.
"Very well.... would the two of you, would the three of
you," Appleby said, turning to include Apple, "please run
around and tell all the grownups that we will have a meeting
here after dinner?" The children agreed to do so and went
scurrying off. Appleby sat for a few minutes longer, then
getting out pen and paper he began a long session of writing
urgent letters to friends and connections near and far.
After an hour or two of this work, Appleby's concentration
was broken by a commotion coming from the lawn. He walked
down the hallway and out onto the verandah. Appleby was
pleasantly surprised to see, sitting in a rocker on the
verandah, the strikingly handsome, dark chocolate young
woman of twenty-two whom he knew so well.
"Helen!" he exclaimed as she rose. "Master Mark! See what
I have to put up with?" The two embraced, smiling, and
remained standing side by side, arms draped loosely around
each other's hips. They surveyed the scene on the lawn
below. "The twins will just never grow up, will they?"
Appleby asked. "No, master.... neither set," she replied,
smiling as she shook her head.
On the lawn below two identical twenty-four year old men
were just crossing a finish line on their hands and knees.
Scrambling for all they were worth, they were shirtless in
the February cool, their caramel brown skin shining in the
sun with the sweat of their efforts. On each of their slim,
muscular backs sat an identical, darker brown eight year old
boy, screeching with laughter, each coaxing his steed on to
greater speed and effort. The instant one "horsey" and its
master crossed the line, steed and rider leaped to their
feet, the man swinging the boy around as he called out a
taunt, "Yes, I suppose poor old Papa Bacchus is past it now-
-old man!" Bacchus and his "rider" simply collapsed,
rolling on the grass and laughing. Then Bacchus rose and,
draping his arm over his twin's bare shoulder, the two
approached the verandah as the little boys scampered around.
"Did you see the race, Master Mark?" asked Pan, laughing,
walking up the steps. "Pan cheated," said Bacchus, also
laughing, catching his breath. Appleby smiled down at the
two, shaking his head, then enfolded them into his chest,
one with each arm as they reached the verandah. Their
growth into manhood had not diminished the sheer beauty of
Pan and Bacchus. Muscled but not bulky, trim with not an
ounce of fat on them, their caramel torsos and the planes of
their faces showed a slim, masculine development--while
their long eyelashes and trumpet shaped lips leant a girlish
quality even now to their features. Their hair, once tight
peppercorn caps, now looked like explosions in a spring
factory, glorious bushes of tight spirals standing two or
three inches out all over their heads. They moved like
gazelles on the plains of Africa. Appleby knew he would
never tire of simply being in their radiant presence, and
squeezed both of them in towards himself as the three stood
with arms interlocking around shoulders.
"Frederick, Douglass, come here at once! How did you get so
filthy?" demanded their mother. The twin boys, named for a
remarkable abolitionist, editor, and former slave much
admired by the avid readers of Seaward, ran up to Helen for
inspection. "We were just playing," said Frederick, "with
Papa Bacch' and Papa Pan," said Douglass. "It's not our
fault!" Their mother shook her head with a rueful smile;
she knew it was true. Each boy was rail thin but not bony,
thin pads of muscle beneath milk chocolate skin giving the
promise of future physical development. Their hair and
their trumpet lips were their father's, their coloring was
between their mother and their father--whichever of Pan or
Bacchus that was. As with Apple, who their father was, the
result of a rare bout by the adult twins with the opposite
sex (as represented by Helen), was not clear, nor did anyone
care or mind in the free air of Seaward. On the island,
every adult male was "Papa" to all the children.
Of course, good guesses could be made about who was
biologically a father to a few. Undeniably Portia's child,
young Marcus's light colored skin and hair gave every sign
of his being Appleby's boy. Wat's skin and hair coloring
and his almond eyes were pretty clearly the result of a
tryst between the Siamese castaway Bundit and the young
mulatto woman, now twenty-eight. The other children.....
Appleby carried the letters he needed mailed over to the
cabin that Troy and Athena still shared, with Apple and her
sisters now installed in the loft upstairs. He knocked on
the cabin door, which was opened by a nine year old girl
whose skin of light milk chocolate and hair of thick, black
curls hinted at the possibility that Cassius had fathered
her--until she smiled brilliantly at the white man at the
door, her facial features, like those of a marble angel,
leaving no doubt. She opened the door and spread out her
skirts.
"Hi, Papa Mark! Mama made me a new dress!"
"So I see, Rain, and it is beautiful!" he said, hugging the
child, "Just like you!" She giggled and grabbed at
Appleby's hand, pulling him inside. "Mama!" she cried,
"It's Papa Mark!"
Down from the loft came Athena, still vibrant and beautiful
at thirty-one. On her hip she carried a dark chocolate
little girl of five, a smaller copy of Apple--odds were good
that Troy had fathered her, but again, nobody fussed over
such speculations. "Hello, Master Mark!" Athena said.
Setting the child on the floor she added, "Moss, greet Papa
Mark!" What appeared to be a tiny copy of Helen chugged
over to hug Appleby's leg. Appleby squeezed back and ran
his hand affectionately through her luxuriant bush of dense,
nappy hair, reveling in its texture.
"Where do you suppose people get ugly children back on the
mainland, and how do they feel about them?" Appleby asked
Athena, who smiled through her disapproving frown. "And how
did we manage to get only beautiful ones at Seaward?" That
truth erased the frown from Athena's face. It was Appleby's
turn to become serious; he told Athena about his request for
a meeting to discuss the alarming turn of events in the
outside world. She grew solemn and nodded her agreement.
Athena thought that Troy might be in the kitchen building,
so Appleby walked in that direction. Mama Cass and Mama
Juno, wearing their sixty plus years well, greeted him in
the doorway. A thin haze floated in the brick room behind
them.
"Master Mark, it's mighty sooty in here," rumbled the tall,
thin Cass. "Yes, master, be careful, that boy is making an
awful mess," agreed Juno, wagging her chins dolefully in the
direction of the kitchen hearth. Peering around her ample
girth, Appleby saw an upraised bottom coming out of the
hearth--a bottom he recognized well, despite the dirty
trousers that clothed it--and the naked torso of a man,
pushing an implement up the chimney. An awful cloud of soot
and cinders rolled out onto the adjacent floor, which had
wisely been covered with old cloths. "There, that's got
it!" said a voice from within. The man uncoiled himself
from the fireplace and stood up, blackened from head to foot
but smiling brightly through the soot.
"Cassius--and all this time it was my understanding that
your father was white. You seem to have lost his
influence!" said Appleby. Cassius guffawed while the women
put on frowns of fake disapproval. "Yes, Master Mark, you
have a point," said Cassius, "but I am running right down to
the ocean, to the pier, as soon as I clean this up" he added
to the women, who were glowering at the suggestion that he
might leave them with the mess, "and I shall throw myself
into the water and emerge my beautiful tan self once again!"
Appleby smiled at him; the remark about beauty was right on
the button, although not at the moment. In the eleven years
since Appleby had first bought Cassius, a frightened sixteen
year old in McGillicuddy's dreadful slave market, he had
matured into a stunningly handsome man. Appleby had seen
drawings, reproductions of the famous statue of David in
Italy, in some art books, and he had always thought there
was a resemblance to Cassius in that marble figure. The
resemblance had become stronger as manhood turned some of
Cassius's pockets of roundness or softness into hard
virility. But that beautiful face, those rosebud lips, the
deeply set hazel eyes, had remained boyish underneath a
glorious cap of dark, twisting curls.... even darker now
that soot covered his body. Tearing his attention away from
the padded, rounded muscles that flowed all around Cassius's
arms and torso, he made his request for a meeting. All
agreed, somber looks replacing smiles, the women wagging
their heads mournfully.
Cass thought that her son, Troy, was in the storage barn
repairing some equipment, so Appleby headed in that
direction, still in possession of the letters that needed to
be mailed. Walking into the storage barn, Appleby saw two
pairs of trousered legs sticking out from underneath a cart
that was propped up on blocks. A white haired black man,
balancing a wheel in his hands, stood nearby. He was
leaning over and looking at the proceedings under the cart,
offering comments from time to time. Appleby came up
directly behind him and hugged him around his middle,
pressing his groin into the man's high, firm butt as his
hands splayed out over his muscled abdomen in front. In
surprise, the man stood up straight and looked behind him.
"Hello, old man!" said Appleby, resting his chin on Priam's
shoulder to observe the repairs.
"Old man!" grumbled Priam. "What kind of money do you want
to put on a race to the big house and back?"
"Don't do it, Master Mark!" came a voice from underneath the
cart.
"He IS an old man, but he can beat me," said another voice
from below. Priam gently kicked a pair of legs, grumbling,
"Then have some respect for your elders, boy!"
"Alright, Papa, it's ready: Put it on," said the first
voice. Priam moved forward to push the wheel over an axle
post, Appleby helping. There was loud banging from below.
"Put the pin in," said the second voice. Appleby saw a
cotter pin on the edge of the wagon and handed it to Priam,
who pounded it into a hole near the outer edge of the axle,
snug against the wheel. The sixty-one year old black man
then lifted the edge of the wagon up an inch, showing no
sign of strain to his powerful frame in doing it, and nodded
at the blocks that had been holding it up. Understanding
the request, Appleby pulled the blocks out and Priam lowered
the cart until it rested, good as new, on its wheel. Whoops
of applause came from beneath the cart, and out came the two
workmen.
"Master Mark, you could've come an hour earlier and been
under there with us," said Troy, with a smile. He was naked
from the waist up, his dark chocolate skin shining with
sweat and flecked with bits of straw. In the eleven years
since Appleby first met him, Troy's muscular physique had
only hardened. Muscles that were once rolling, long hills
had become chiseled iron, a strong neck was now an oaken
trunk, a rippling abdomen was now plates of steel. But his
face remained the same: luscious plum-like lips, a broad
nose, and open honest eyes forming handsome features beneath
a skullcap of tight, kinky hair.
Appleby embraced Troy tightly, pressing his cheek against
the black man's face, receiving the same in return. The
connection between these two was nothing but stronger after
more than a decade, and was only fed by the love each found
with other men and women on the island. Case in point: the
other shirtless, dark chocolate young man of twenty-five who
had scrambled out from under the wagon.
"Master Mark!" exclaimed Hector, simply enveloping the white
man in his powerful arms and pressing his cheek against
Appleby's. Hector's boyhood bashfulness had transformed
gracefully into a character of simple openness, acceptance,
and sheer love that was remarkable even by Seaward
standards, even as his body had moved into bulky, hardened
manhood. Appleby embraced the young man's toughened,
sweaty, dark torso-then held Hector by the rounded hills of
his muscular upper arms as he looked with delight into the
brilliant smile splitting the honest, chocolate face.
"Hector! I was thinking just this morning: do you know
that you are the same age that I was when I first came to
Seaward?"
A look of mock surprise and horror came over Hector's face:
"But master, you were such an old man then!" and then he
whooped with laughter and swallowed the white man up again
in his muscular arms. Laughing too, Troy rubbed Appleby on
the back and squeezed his shoulder-or as much of his
shoulder as he could reach through the Hector-blanket that
covered the white man at the moment. Appleby's long, loving
history of intimacy with Troy only increased his love for
Hector, which only increased his love for Troy, and round
and round it went.
Appleby stood happily for a moment with an arm around each
man's shoulder, enveloped in chocolate beef, while Priam
smiled at the three. Then duty and danger brought him down
to earth. He pulled the letters from his pocket to ask Troy
to take them to the mail boat, and he gravely told them of
his request for a meeting. They had already received that
request from Apple, who had run by to tell them, so they
were ready to agree to attend. Troy and Priam left
immediately to take the Hesperus out to meet the mail boat,
which was due any time.
"Hector, do you know where Bundit is?" asked Appleby.
"I think he's at the cemetery, master," said Hector. A
small, dark cloud of worry crossed Appleby's face. "Again?"
he muttered to himself. "Apple said Marcus was going up
there to tell him about the meeting," continued Hector.
Appleby nodded, but now an unsettled look definitely came
over his face. He embraced Hector once more, the solid
warmth of the dark brown body almost distracting him from
his duties. Hector knew it, too, for he felt the white
man's groin stiffen as they hugged, and he gently pushed his
own groin back in response, as an invitation. But Appleby
contented himself with a quick kiss on Hector's full, plum
lips and another tight squeeze, and then he was off.
Passing by Portia's cabin, he was about to knock and see if
she had been told about the meeting, when she emerged onto
her porch, sweeping with a broom in hand. "Oh! Master
Mark!" she said, and stepped off her porch to kiss Appleby
quickly on the lips. She put her tan-brown arm around his
waist and hugged him briefly, laying her head of frizzy
brown hair on his muscular chest. "I heard about the
meeting, master. I'll be there. It will be alright," she
said, looking back up at him and smiling bravely. Appleby
kissed her back on her rosebud lips--so like her brother,
Cassius--and then hiked off in the direction of the
cemetery.
Climbing up to the highest point of Seaward, the old
cemetery, Appleby saw Bundit sitting on a boulder looking
out to sea. Near him on the ground, his legs tucked up, was
Marcus, looking in the same direction. Appleby walked up
silently and sat on the boulder next to Bundit. The Siamese
man smiled at Appleby, sighed deeply, and looked back out to
sea. High, white clouds scudded by in the afternoon sea
air.
"The old urges, Bundit?" asked Appleby.
"Yes, I suppose so, Master Mark. Eleven years, master.
Only a few times to the mainland. I have never been in one
place that long since I was a boy!"
Appleby nodded and, reaching over, put his hand on Bundit's
shoulder. Eleven years in one place must seem terribly
stale to a sailor--although it had not added a day to
Bundit's appearance. He still had the same heart-shaped
face, almond-shaped deep brown eyes, and tan-and-gold skin
color. There was no shrinkage at all in his bush of thick,
black hair. He still looked as much like a teenager as he
had eleven years ago at twenty. But over the last year or
so, a sadness stole more frequently into his lovely eyes.
"Bundit... you heard about the meeting tonight?"
Marcus piped up: "I told him, Papa Mark." Bundit smiled at
the boy and nodded at Appleby.
"It is to discuss the very disturbing developments that I
think we can all agree are on the horizon. Bundit... it is
a very dangerous time to be thinking of leaving the island,"
said Appleby, carefully choosing his words.
"I know, I know.... but maybe it is a dangerous time to be
on the island, master. Maybe we should all leave and go
someplace safe." Appleby only shook his head. Then he
tried again.
"Bundit, you know what I have heard people say in
Charleston. You know there are some who would be perfectly
willing to enslave you."
"Oh, there are some wicked people everywhere, Master Mark.
I wouldn't need to stay in Charleston. Things might be
better elsewhere." Appleby could only sigh and squeeze
Bundit's shoulder. He had heard all this before. It was
clear that Bundit, not born on Seaward, was becoming
restless. But then his heart froze, for he heard something
else that he had also heard before.
Marcus spoke up: "Can I go, too, Papa Mark? Can I go with
Bundit?"
The world tumbled over several times as Appleby considered
what else he could say that had not been said before.
"You're still too young, Marcus" is what came out, but it
was inadequate, merely repeating old admonitions. What
really could be said was layers deep.
All the young people of Seaward knew about slavery, knew
what their own special circumstances were. But there is a
difference between knowing what a thing is from books and
stories and experiencing it first hand. The latter they had
never done. The adults of Seaward were even hesitant to let
them go to Charleston, and so trips there were extremely
rare for the children. How can you tell a child how
vulnerable they are to an evil they have never known?
And then there was the personal layer of what might be said.
The adults of Seaward were very careful, even eager, to
share parenthood every bit as much as they shared the
physical joys that led to it. All adults were "Papa" or
"Mama" and were treated as such. Yet even the children had
a sense of who was, or might be, their biological father,
and there was never any question as to who their mothers
were. The adults all felt a true parental attachment to all
of the children, and yet.... could they help but have a
little extra, or at least different, feeling for their own
flesh and blood? Appleby would have sacrificed himself for
the wellbeing of any child (or adult) on Seaward, but
Marcus.... Marcus was his own and only offspring. And if
the Siamese Bundit risked trouble and enslavement on the
mainland, then so much more did his own son who was one
quarter African.
All these complications Appleby held in his heart, turning
them over not for the first time. He asked Marcus to return
to the house to wash up for dinner, and the boy obeyed,
running off down the hill. Appleby sat for a moment more
with Bundit, then spoke.
"Bundit.... I want to see you happy. When you first came, I
said you could go ashore with my blessing. It really isn't
my permission to give, as you know. But I really think it
would be a mistake to leave Seaward now. And Bundit," and
here he scooped the man into him, turning to kiss his
forehead and nuzzle in the black, bushy wings of his hair,
"I would miss you very much if you left."
"I know, master, I know" said Bundit, and snuggled up into
the side of the white man. They sat like that for a moment
longer, then rose and, hand in hand, walked down the
cemetery hill toward the house. Dinners were being set out
for different groupings here and there, in cabins, in the
kitchen, in the main house. People often ate where the
nearest table was at Seaward, and everyone found a welcome
in every dwelling.
As the dinner hour passed, the grownups gathered in the
library of Seaward. The children were there as well, some
lying on the floor, some sitting in the doorways. The
youngest, Douglass, Frederick, Moss, and Wat, were of course
the least attentive to the proceedings, although even they
stopped their play to give their attention from time to
time. Appleby rose to begin the meeting.
"My friends, you read the newspapers. You know that Mr.
Lincoln is to be inaugurated as president next month,
indeed, in a little more than a week. You know that several
states, including South Carolina, have vowed to secede from
the Union if that happens--and that many leaders in Northern
states vow that it would mean war if they did secede."
The company nodded; skilled readers all, they had kept up
with the newspapers that came in on the mail boat, although
they were usually days if not weeks old. Appleby continued.
"I have feared this event for eleven long years. We have
prepared for it, but have we prepared enough? We may have
very little time, now. I have some suggestions as to what
to do, as no doubt many of you do." He began to lay out a
plan to completely fill their stores on Seaward, to cram
every nook and cranny of every barn, cellar, and armory with
as many supplies as they could acquire to survive whatever
isolation or privation that war might bring.
"But building up our supplies is dependent on keeping
Seaward our own. How long can we keep troops off of our
island? How much longer before the South Carolina Militia
makes active use of the island?" Heads shook all around the
room. It was a grim picture. Bundit sat quietly, but did
not comment.
"I have a suggestion," said Appleby. "If the danger is that
the South Carolina Militia, their infantry or their navy,
would move into Seaward--I propose we invite them to do just
that. As you know, I am a lieutenant in that august body."
Nods and puzzled looks went around the room. "And as they
say, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.' I have a plan...."
which he proceeded to explain to them. When he was done,
they looked thoughtful.
"I say, try it, master," said Priam. "We can't be worse off
than we would be otherwise." The company discussed the
matter for a while, and agreed with Priam and Appleby. It
was decided to put the plan into action at the next meeting
of the militia which was to be in two days' time. Others
made more good suggestions that were considered by all. By
the end of the meeting, nearly everyone at least felt that
they had something to do that would keep Seaward as far out
of war and turmoil as possible. Everyone understood the
utterly bleak implications of being overrun by troops or
police from the mainland if their island were to be seized
for its strategic value, near the entrance to Charleston
Harbor.
As the meeting broke up, everybody embraced in twos and
threes. Emotions were running high, but so was hope.
Seaward had many resources: financial, social, and
spiritual, and they believed they could weather the storm.
Appleby wrote out some orders for goods and supplies, asking
Troy to take the orders out to the mail boat the next day
for transport into Charleston. Appleby went out to sit in
the cool of the February evening on the verandah as people
filed out singly or in groups, bidding him good night.
Appleby rocked quietly, in deep thought. The last to step
out onto the verandah was Priam. He looked down at Appleby
who looked back at him. They nodded at each other, a deep
understanding of the troubles ahead passing between them.
Appleby patted the arm of the rocker next to him, and Priam
sat down in it.
"We can't lose Seaward, Priam. I.... I think I would kill
myself, indeed I am sure of it" said Appleby. Priam nodded.
"Yes, master. Me, too. It's all I've known for, oh, fifty
years now. I've been on every square inch of this island,
put my mark on most everything, Master Mark. If Seaward
goes, I go."
Appleby nodded agreement, then reached out to squeeze
Priam's hand, and the two rocked in silence for a while.
Then a thought occurred to Appleby.
"Priam.... you have been over the whole island. I don't
think I have seen you go upstairs in this house more than,
oh, maybe a couple of times in eleven years, though."
Priam chuckled. "Well, I guess that's true, master. I used
to go a lot more," he said, a big grin appeared on his face.
"Oh, no doubt... back when Richardson Huddle was still
alive, eh?"
"Well, yes, master, then.... but since then, too." Priam
got a far-away look in his eye as he looked back into the
past.
"When.... when Aunt Lucy lived here alone?" asked Appleby.
Priam nodded. "Were you... were you a house servant then?"
he asked.
Priam chuckled, a deep rumble, and shook his head. "Oh, yes
and no, master." Appleby looked at Priam's private smile
and now grinned at him also.
"Alright, something's afoot here... or was. Tell me,
Priam."
"No, master, you don't want to know!"
"Priam! Do you and I have secrets from each other? After
what we have done.... have enjoyed with each other?"
Priam laughed out loud, looked at Appleby, and shrugged--the
past was the past, and it was true, he had little to hide
from the white man, nor Appleby from him, so....
"Well, let's just say.... early on you know, not in her
later years.... Miss Lucy got lonely sometimes, master."
Appleby stared, open-mouthed in astonishment. An image of
the powerful young body of Priam lying atop a younger Aunt
Lucy flashed through his head, and his penis gave a twitch.
Then he whooped with laughter and stamped his foot so hard
the verandah shook. Priam broke out into open laughter
again. "You.... you aren't offended because it was your
Aunt Lucy, are you master?"
Appleby reached over and cupped Priam's neck, feeling the
scratchy texture of his dense, kinky white hair. "No,
Priam. I am glad that Aunt Lucy found some joy. But you...
was it good for you as well? You must have been just a boy,
and she an older woman."
"It was good as a boy... it was good later on, master.
Remember what we say, at Seaward we give each other what we
need. She needed me more than I needed her, but yes,
master, it was all good. And, of course, she lost interest
in later years." Appleby nodded, continuing to caress the
strong, black neck. Then he was seized with an inspiration.
"But you have not been upstairs very much in recent years,
right?" Priam shook his head. "Come, show me which room
she had," said Appleby. Priam looked at him in surprise,
then considered the request for a moment, nodded agreement,
and rose. The two trooped upstairs.
The second floor was not yet over-crowded, but was certainly
becoming socially "full" since Appleby's arrival. Hector
had moved out of Troy and Athena's cabin to make room in
their loft for the children. He now occupied one room. The
twins had a room of their own, as did Bundit and Cassius.
With Appleby keeping a bedroom, that filled five of the six
rooms on second floor. Priam walked down the hallway, some
doors open and some closed, people talking in some of the
rooms and either soft sounds or quiet coming from others.
Providentially, the very room he sought was the one still
unoccupied, perhaps because its decorations were the most
feminine of any of the six.
As Appleby followed Priam down the hallway, noting who was
in which room and who was not, he smiled to himself in
thinking about the open, easy arrangement on the second
floor--an arrangement that, indeed, extended to the cabins.
It was a rare night that all five rooms were occupied. The
men and women of Seaward shared a perfect freedom to walk
into rooms or cabins, to seek or offer physical intimacy. A
"no" was never taken as a rejection, and a "yes" was never
exclusive. Many a couple, surprised by the unannounced
arrival of a third person, invited the newcomer to join them
in their frolic. People slept alone because they wanted to,
or tangled in a nest of multi-colored limbs if that was what
they sought. Tonight the second floor was typical: Bundit
could be glimpsed sitting side by side with Cassius on his
bed, the two talking quietly, and Appleby had no doubt where
that conversation would lead. Hector was not in his room
but the door to Pan and Bacchus's room was closed; from
behind it could be heard soft laughter and the squeaking of
bedsprings.
Priam entered the last, unoccupied room, Appleby following
him. He breathed deeply, inhaling scents and memories from
long ago. "Here it was, master," he said, "this very bed.
Starting out, I was just a boy, really. She had me sneak
out of my cabin at night, come up here. No other people in
the house, so we wouldn't be disturbed. Oh, those were the
days, master," he said, looking at the bed but yet, not
looking at the bed.
Appleby came up beside him and draped an arm around his
shoulder, kneading the big, rounded muscle that cascaded off
his shoulder and down into his arm. Priam, smiling, shaking
his head slightly, kept looking at the bed, softly muttering
"uh, uh, uh" to himself. Looking from the bed to Priam,
Appleby noticed the front of the black man's trousers:
there was a definite bulge there as his memories called
forth an involuntary reaction. Suddenly, Appleby was very
much aware of the sheer masculinity and strength of Priam's
body. In his early sixties but with a body at least fifteen
years younger, he exuded an animal vitality. Appleby's own
groin began to grow in response.
Turning in toward Priam, keeping one hand on the black man's
shoulder, Appleby reached his other arm across the thick
chest to clasp the same shoulder. He leaned forward and
nuzzled Priam's chocolate ear and neck with his lips.
Startled from his revery, Priam looked quickly at Appleby,
muttering "Huh?!" He looked a moment longer--he was no
stranger to physical intimacy with Appleby, or with others
on the island, but not to the extent that the younger people
were. But caught up in memories of his pleasant intimacies
with Lucy Huddle, the family resemblance in Appleby combined
with the love and attraction he felt toward the white man on
his own terms. Priam pivoted toward Appleby, wrapping his
own arms around his master's lower back. The two looked at
each other directly in the eyes for a long, serious moment.
Then simultaneous smiles cracked the hesitancy between them,
and they merged together in a passionate embrace.
Appleby slipped to one side to close the door, then stepped
back to Priam, tearing off his shirt and unbuckling his
trousers as he went. He slammed back into Priam, then began
unbuttoning the man's shirt to bare the big lobes of muscle
under the shiny dark hairless skin of his chest. Priam
stood like an ebony statue, accepting the services of the
white man. With both men shirtless, Appleby wrapped his
arms around Priam's muscled back as Priam grasped both of
Appleby's shoulders in his strong brown hands. Their
penises, pushed straight down between them, batted and slid
against each other. The two embraced tightly and then
kissed. Priam's lips were, like his sons', full and plum-
like. Appleby sucked first one lip and then the other into
his mouth, chewing it with his own lips, thrusting his
tongue into the man's mouth.
Priam was like a huge machine of muscle that, once started,
was difficult to stop. He was now fairly started. As he
surrendered his lips to Appleby, he moved his hands to the
white man's trousers and simply ripped them and the
undergarments beneath to the floor in one motion. As
Appleby kicked them and his shoes aside, Priam did the same
to his own pants and shoes. Now naked, the two powerful men
locked together with arms and mouths, grinding, strong leg
muscles pushing groins into groins. The two were like two
mighty elk in a forest, locking horns in struggle, but it
was a struggle that would lead to mutual ecstasy.
Appleby broke the impasse by stepping to the bedside stand
and opening a pot of lubricant (one could be found in nearly
every room on Seaward!). He threw himself on his back on
the bed, head against the pillows, legs up in the air.
Taking two fingers of goo from the pot, he quickly began
greasing up his own anus, inserting both fingers to help
relax the sphincter. Priam stood at the end of the bed,
slowly masturbating his huge, erect penis, head cocked to
one side, lips parted. When Appleby was ready he beckoned,
and the powerful black man crawled onto the bed, his penis a
potent missile pointed toward Appleby's gut. The white man
took another dollop of lubricant and oiled the huge, purple
black organ, gently encircling the large, lighter brown head
of the penis, which made Priam groan with pleasure.
It took a while for Priam to insert himself into Appleby.
First just the head, making Appleby gasp, then another inch,
then another. Slowly the giant, purple black cock
disappeared into the tan and pink bottom of the white man,
pushed by Priam's powerful groin as the black man sat on his
haunches. Finally, deeply inserted, he paused. Then, at a
nod from Appleby, he began sliding in and out, first slowly
then with more speed. Priam shifted from his haunches to
stretch his legs straight back and to arch out straight over
Appleby's torso. The white man pushed up on the hanging,
muscular lobes of Priam's chest, tanned white palms and
fingers spread out over the dark-skinned chest, and held
Priam up as the black man began pumping with furious energy.
Back and forth moved his muscular butt, the muscles
clenching upward with every repetition. Priam's mouth was
open and he gasped for breath as he looked down, now at the
sight of his slick black cock moving in and out of the white
bottom, now at Appleby's muscled chest and torso, now down
into the white man's face.
From deep inside him, from the wells of memory, from the
plains of Africa far away, came the rolling thunder of
Priam's ecstasy. When it came he bellowed, eyes shut and
head back, slamming his groin forward twice and then holding
it tight against Appleby's bottom. The tight clenching of
his muscles gave way to quivering and shaking. Appleby
slipped his arms around the man's strong black shoulders and
pulled him down onto his own chest. Priam lay there
gasping, clutching the sheets, whispering "Oh master, oh
master" over and over. A moment passed and he heaved a
great sigh. Then he pushed himself down the length of
Appleby's torso, the head of his rigid cock pulling out of
the white man's anus with a plop and trailing a string of
semen.
Priam stopped when he came to Appleby's rigid pink and red
penis. First he gently sucked the white man's ballsack,
stimulating the sperm he would soon have inside of him.
Licking up the bottom side of the stiff shaft, he made
Appleby groan and writhe in ecstasy. Then he took the whole
shaft into his mouth and began moving his head up and down,
teeth retracted behind tightly closed lips. Appleby grasped
Priam's head with both hands, fingers scratching his tight,
white skullcap of kinky hair. The white man moved his hips
up and down to complement the rhythm of Priam's head. When
he came it was sudden, a tidal wave of pleasure engulfing
him as his torso curled up off the bed and he cried out,
Priam's head between his hands as the black man greedily
drank shot after shot of the white man's semen.
The two lay like that as Appleby gasped for breath. Then
Priam moved up alongside his master to envelop him once more
in his large, powerful arms. Appleby rolled in the black
man's direction, his arms around his shoulders. The two lay
side by side, wordlessly communing. Appleby swam in the
eyes of the man whose loins had fathered his lovers Troy,
Hector, and Helen. Priam looked deep into the eyes of a man
who had once owned him but was now as dear as his own
children. Slowly, both eyes drifted shut. Just before
sleep overtook them, Appleby whispered, "Cass... will she
miss you?" Chuckling softly, Priam replied, "She'll figure
I'm somewhere, with someone... might enjoy the rest." Both
laughed at that, then sank under a wave of sleep.